


Pilgrim's Way

by dragonwrangler



Category: Satan's Alley
Genre: Drama, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwrangler/pseuds/dragonwrangler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: Pilgrim's Way</p><p>Author: dragonwrangler/ K. J. Raeside</p><p>Story contents © August 15, 2009</p><p>Author's Note: Set roughly in 18th century Ireland when the Catholic religion was being suppressed under the Penal Laws.  </p><p>Disclaimer: Father O'Malley is the property of Dreamworks Pictures. All other characters are the property of K. J. Raeside. No profit is being made from this fanfic.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Pilgrim's Way
> 
> Author: dragonwrangler/ K. J. Raeside
> 
> Story contents © August 15, 2009
> 
> Author's Note: Set roughly in 18th century Ireland when the Catholic religion was being suppressed under the Penal Laws. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Father O'Malley is the property of Dreamworks Pictures. All other characters are the property of K. J. Raeside. No profit is being made from this fanfic.

The second sight was a talent Father Pádraig O'Malley found both a blessing and a curse. Today, the sight allowed him to see one of the many fey creatures that lived within the city of Belfast. It was perched on the edge of the buildings that formed one wall of the alleyway where Pádraig was holding his accounting class. The creature was as gray as the stonework of the building and would have been mistaken for a gargoyle, if anyone else were able to see it. Pádraig made sure not to turn his head for a closer look; he knew better than to draw that kind of attention down on himself.

Leaping up onto one of the chimneys, the creature stretched its wings for balance and looked towards the main street that was out of sight from where Pádraig sat. The corner of the alleyway he was in was well hidden-- one of those sites that only children would seek out; and not being that far from being one himself, it had not been difficult for Pádraig to find. Still, it was a dangerous thing to do-- for both himself and his students. If caught, it could cause serious trouble for the student's parents; for himself, it could mean anything from imprisonment to exile or death. Catholics were not allowed an education under the Penal Laws, and Pádraig risked much to teach the few that wished to learn.

Still, the second sight gave him an advantage few others had-- the ability to see what others could not see. _And what is it that you can see that I cannot, wild one? _he wondered as he showed one of the boys where they had made a mistake in their addition. The creature turned away from the street and made a worried warbling sound. Pádraig nodded, and closed his book.

"That will be all today. Time to go." He calmly packed away his copy of the accounting primer they had been studying from and stood. The three boys who had managed to get away for the class did the same. They were used to having their class end before they had finished a section and quickly hid their worksheets, nodded to Pádraig, and quietly slipping away, softly murmuring their thanks as they left.

When the boys were gone, Pádraig glanced up to thank the creature, but it was nowhere to be seen. He frowned; the loss of the creature unsettled him but he was not sure why. Usually, whatever creature was near would keep watch until Pádraig signaled he was leaving. _Why did this one leave so soon? _Shaking his head, he hitched the strap of his bag over a shoulder and bent down to pass through the broken boards that cut off the end of the alley.

When he reached the side street the alley was attached to, Pádraig was able to slip out of the alley without anyone seeing him. Attention was the last thing Pádraig wanted. The primer in his bag was enough to bring the full force of the law down on him: the cross hidden inside his waistcoat was even more dangerous to his wellbeing than the primer.

As he turned to head home, Pádraig glanced up at the rooftops. He spotted several groups of fey creatures silhouetted against the skyline. They were all facing towards the west. Occasionally one would hop down to look at him and make a mournful sound before returning to the others. Unease began to grow in Pádraig's chest and he allowed his footsteps to quicken.

_The fey are not usually this active during the day. I wonder what could be upsetting them. And why are they looking towards the west? _Several possibilities came to Pádraig's mind, none of them good.

He reached the building he resided in and quickly ran up the stairs to the small room over the bakery who's owner had rented him the room. He paused a moment, listening for any movement within before opening the door and stepping inside. After carefully shutting the door, he quickly pulled back the rug that covered the floor near the bed. Pulling a few boards free, he found that everything hidden there was still in its place. Pádraig sighed in relief and placed the primer beside his priestly vestments before replacing the boards and the rug. As he straightened, a knock at his door sent his heart pounding in his chest. He stood, uncertain, until a voice called out softly, "Patrick?"

Recognizing the voice, Pádraig closed his eyes a moment, then crossed the room and opened the door.

"Uncle."

The man standing on the other side of the door was tall, with dark, almost black, hair, hazel eyes flecked with green and gold, and an open face; a contrast to Pádraig's blond hair and blue eyes. James Mahon; brother to the woman who had raised Pádraig as her own.

"What brings you…"

The look on James's face caused Pádraig's voice to trail off. "What has happened?" Pádraig asked.

James pursed his lips then sighed. "It's Daniel, Patrick." A band of pain tightened around Pádraig's heart at those words and the look on his uncle's face. "He fell from his horse. The physician doubts he will live through the night." James took another breath before adding softly, "He was asking for you."

Stunned, Pádraig stared at his uncle for a moment, and then pulled himself together. He nodded and reached for his coat then followed James back down to the street and into the carriage his uncle had arrived in. Pádraig listened to the driver clicked his tongue and snap the reins. The horses hooves clopping steadily against the cobbled street.

"How did it happen?" Pádraig asked after a few minutes, surprising himself with the question and at how steady his voice was.

James shook his head. "They say it was an accident. His horse was spooked and ran. When Daniel tried to regain control the horse reared up and lost it's balance. Daniel and the horse went down in the middle of the street."

"That can't be right." Pádraig frowned and shook his head. "Daniel is an expert rider; he wouldn't have lost control of a horse like that."

James sighed. "Sometimes one's skill with a horse is not enough Patrick." Pádraig opened his mouth to protest, but James held up his hand to silence him. "I will be looking into what happened." He shook his head again. "But it won't save Daniel," James added softly.

Pádraig bit his lower lip. He knew his uncle, one of the many magistrates for Belfast, would not rest until he knew the truth, but no matter what answers he fond, he would blame himself for being unable to do more.

"Forgive me uncle. I meant no disrespect."

James rested a hand on Pádraig's shoulder, but said nothing more. Pádraig was silent, his thoughts jumbled as they headed across town to the Leeson mansion. Braced against the rocking carriage, Pádraig tried to straighten out those thoughts. Too many memories of his years of friendship with Daniel crowded his mind though and Pádraig had to restrain his hands from reaching for the cross he carried. He could not risk it, though the need to keep that a secret from James had always left Pádraig with a lurking sense of guilt.

The carriage came to a halt and Pádraig looked up at the large white building, trying to gain strength from the solidity of its stonework. Along the roof line, Pádraig spotted several fey creatures, huddled over one end of the building. Pádraig closed his eyes. _Of course they would know._ Reluctantly he followed his uncle out of the carriage.

Standing in the entrance waiting for them was Peter Leeson, Daniel's father. A big man, who appeared more like a blacksmith than the accountant that he truly was, he looked lost, his eyes dark with a pain that he tried to hide as he reached out to shake James's hand.

"Good of you to come James," he said before nodding his head in Pádraig's direction. "And you as well, Patrick."

"How is he, Peter?"

The man shook his head, a bewildered look crossing his features. "He's…" The man paused and took a deep breath. "There's nothing to be done now. We're just waiting. Pastor Thomas was with Daniel earlier, but he's is with Mary now, she has more need of comfort now than..." He glanced up the curving staircase. "I should…"

James nodded and wrapped an arm around the devastated man. "I will go with you," he said. "Patrick, perhaps you should see Daniel first. You can give your condolences to Daniel's mother after you are done."

"The sitting room," Daniel's father said quietly as James led him away.

Pádraig watched the two men head upstairs before making his way to the sitting room. Servants moved silently around him, a few of them parents of his students. All carried looks of sadness and once Pádraig stopped to discreetly offer a few words of comfort and a softly spoken prayer.

When he reached the sitting room, he paused to take a deep breath. A sheet of fabric covered the entrance, closing the room off from the rest of the house. He reached out, pulled the sheet aside, and then stepped inside.

A small bed had been positioned in the center of the room, the other furniture shoved haphazardly to the edges. Pádraig was not surprised to see James's daughter Anne, and James's second wife, Isabella, sitting by Daniel's side. Anne was betrothed to Daniel; they were planning to be married in the spring. A single glance at Daniel's pain clenched face told Pádraig that would never happen.

As soon as Anne spotted him, she left Daniel's side to hugged him, weary sobs shaking her frame. Pádraig returned the hug, rubbing her back in comforting circles.

"I don't understand! I don't understand! Why Daniel?" She looked up, her face streaked with tears. "We we're to be married, Patrick." She gasped and closed her eyes tightly.

Pádraig rested his forehead against his cousin's. "I don't have an answer to that, Anne. Only God does. He will grant you the strength to get through this, you just need to trust in Him. He will take care of Daniel until you can see each other again." He pulled her close, letting her cry against his shoulder; shutting his own eyes to keep his tears at bay.

They stood that way for a few minutes, drawing what comfort they could from one another, and then Anne took a step back as she wiped her face with the back of her hands. Looking up, Pádraig nodded to Isabella, the woman James's had married a few years after Anne's mother Sarah had dies, before forcing himself to look again at Daniel.

A movement on the table though drew Pádraig's gaze away from the bed. He was not surprised to see Súiche, the fey creature that was always somewhere near Daniel, perched on the table where it could watch the room without getting in the way. Pádraig was surprised that Súiche was staring at Isabella instead of Daniel, teeth bared and fur bristling.

Isabella, thankfully, could not see Súiche-- Pádraig didn't want to think of the chaos the sight of the fey creature would have cause if she had. Not that Súiche would do any harm; still, the idea that a creature many considered cursed was in Daniel's room would cause more trouble than comfort.

"Pádraig?" His name was barely audible, but it seemed to silence everything in the room. Daniel's eyes opened, and he stared at the ceiling in confusion as he whispered again, "Pádraig?" Súiche turned away from Isabella and cooed softly at Daniel as he rested his head on his front paws.

Anne quickly returned to Daniel's side. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took the dying man's hand. "He's here, Daniel, he's here." She gave Pádraig a pleading look over her shoulder.

Pádraig slowly walked over to the bed. He had ministered to more than a few of the dying since he had been ordained a priest two years earlier, but this…

He stood beside his aunt on the opposite side of the bed from Anne, and gently touched the back of Daniel's other hand. There were dark bruises mottling the skin of the arm that rested on top of the white coverlet. "Daniel," he said, and was unable to say more.

Daniel tried to turn his head, but gasped in pain as soon as he moved. Isabella pressed her hand against Daniel's shoulder and admonished softly, "You shouldn't move, it will just make things worse, Daniel."

"Not much…" Daniel's voice trailed off and he drew in a few breaths through clenched teeth before continuing. "Not much worse it can get."

"Perhaps you could move for a moment, Isabella, so the boy could get close enough for Daniel to see him." Pádraig blinked in surprise. He had not notice the bard, Colm Cille, sitting in the far corner of the room. Colm nodded at Pádraig, then shifted his gaze back to Isabella. Turning back, Pádraig found his aunt shooting the bard a dark look but, as if aware of Pádraig's attention, the look disappeared, replaced by a more proper grieving expression.

She rose to her feet. "Anne," she said with a quick glance at her step daughter, "we should see how Mary is doing." Isabella turned and walked out of the room. Anne bit her lower lip; she then bent down to lightly kiss the back of Daniel's hand. "I will be back as soon as I can, love," she said, then ran from the room.

Pádraig sighed and moved closer to the head of the bed. Súiche stood up on his hind legs, forelegs tucked under his chest and head cocked to the side as he watched the two women leave the room. When Anne's footsteps faded away, Súiche jumped over to the bed and curled up on Daniel's pillow, resting his muzzle and one paw on Daniel's shoulder.

"She is angry with me, isn't she," Daniel asked. The band of pain grew even tighter around Pádraig's heart as he looked at the bruises and scraped skin he could now see along the side of Daniel's face. An old memory from when they were both much younger flashed through Pádraig's mind; his hand gently stroking the smooth skin of Daniel's face as Daniel lay on top of him. Pádraig stared at a spot to the left of the bed, a blush heating his cheeks.

The sound of a chair shifting snapped Pádraig back to the present. "No," Colm said. The bard stepped to the side of the bed. "Isabella is angry with herself."

"Herself?" Pádraig asked.

"Yes." The bard did not elaborate, though there was a distinct harshness in the single word that sent a shiver of foreboding down Pádraig's spine.

A wavering sigh slipped out of Daniel. "Please don't make an example of her because of me, Colm."

"It is not for you to judge who will be made an example of Daniel." The bard met Pádraig's gaze. "I will keep Isabella occupied so you can have time to say farewell." He then rested a hand on Daniel's head. "Peace be yours, Daniel."

Pádraig watched a shimmering glow flared a moment around the bard's hand as he bent down and kissed Daniel on the forehead, then it disappeared. Daniel's eyes widened in surprise as the bard moved away. Súiche gave a little chirp of content as Colm scratched him behind one ear. He smiled then looked up and nodded once before walking away.

Not sure what the bard had done, Pádraig asked carefully, "Daniel?"

Daniel looked startled and a little frightened as he looked up at Pádraig. "I can't feel the pain, Pádraig. It's still there but…" He swallowed. "A miracle?" he asked as if searching for reassurance.

Pádraig sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully took Daniel's hand in his own as he shook his head and smiled gently down at his friend. "Perhaps more of a gift than a miracle?"

"Yes." Daniel smiled and closed his eyes as Pádraig stared at the doorway the bard had passed through and wondered, _But a gift for whom?_


	2. Chapter 2

The second sight was a talent Father Pádraig O'Malley found both a blessing and a curse. Today, the sight allowed him to see one of the many fey creatures that lived within the city of Belfast. It was perched on the edge of the buildings that formed one wall of the alleyway where Pádraig was holding his accounting class. The creature was as gray as the stonework of the building and would have been mistaken for a gargoyle, if anyone else were able to see it. Pádraig made sure not to turn his head for a closer look; he knew better than to draw that kind of attention down on himself.

Leaping up onto one of the chimneys, the creature stretched its wings for balance and looked towards the main street that was out of sight from where Pádraig sat. The corner of the alleyway he was in was well hidden-- one of those sites that only children would seek out; and not being that far from being one himself, it had not been difficult for Pádraig to find. Still, it was a dangerous thing to do-- for both himself and his students. If caught, it could cause serious trouble for the student's parents; for himself, it could mean anything from imprisonment to exile or death. Catholics were not allowed an education under the Penal Laws, and Pádraig risked much to teach the few that wished to learn.

Still, the second sight gave him an advantage few others had-- the ability to see what others could not see. _And what is it that you can see that I cannot, wild one? _he wondered as he showed one of the boys where they had made a mistake in their addition. The creature turned away from the street and made a worried warbling sound. Pádraig nodded, and closed his book.

"That will be all today. Time to go." He calmly packed away his copy of the accounting primer they had been studying from and stood. The three boys who had managed to get away for the class did the same. They were used to having their class end before they had finished a section and quickly hid their worksheets, nodded to Pádraig, and quietly slipping away, softly murmuring their thanks as they left.

When the boys were gone, Pádraig glanced up to thank the creature, but it was nowhere to be seen. He frowned; the loss of the creature unsettled him but he was not sure why. Usually, whatever creature was near would keep watch until Pádraig signaled he was leaving. _Why did this one leave so soon? _Shaking his head, he hitched the strap of his bag over a shoulder and bent down to pass through the broken boards that cut off the end of the alley.

When he reached the side street the alley was attached to, Pádraig was able to slip out of the alley without anyone seeing him. Attention was the last thing Pádraig wanted. The primer in his bag was enough to bring the full force of the law down on him: the cross hidden inside his waistcoat was even more dangerous to his wellbeing than the primer.

As he turned to head home, Pádraig glanced up at the rooftops. He spotted several groups of fey creatures silhouetted against the skyline. They were all facing towards the west. Occasionally one would hop down to look at him and make a mournful sound before returning to the others. Unease began to grow in Pádraig's chest and he allowed his footsteps to quicken.

_The fey are not usually this active during the day. I wonder what could be upsetting them. And why are they looking towards the west? _Several possibilities came to Pádraig's mind, none of them good.

He reached the building he resided in and quickly ran up the stairs to the small room over the bakery who's owner had rented him the room. He paused a moment, listening for any movement within before opening the door and stepping inside. After carefully shutting the door, he quickly pulled back the rug that covered the floor near the bed. Pulling a few boards free, he found that everything hidden there was still in its place. Pádraig sighed in relief and placed the primer beside his priestly vestments before replacing the boards and the rug. As he straightened, a knock at his door sent his heart pounding in his chest. He stood, uncertain, until a voice called out softly, "Patrick?"

Recognizing the voice, Pádraig closed his eyes a moment, then crossed the room and opened the door.

"Uncle."

The man standing on the other side of the door was tall, with dark, almost black, hair, hazel eyes flecked with green and gold, and an open face; a contrast to Pádraig's blond hair and blue eyes. James Mahon; brother to the woman who had raised Pádraig as her own.

"What brings you…"

The look on James's face caused Pádraig's voice to trail off. "What has happened?" Pádraig asked.

James pursed his lips then sighed. "It's Daniel, Patrick." A band of pain tightened around Pádraig's heart at those words and the look on his uncle's face. "He fell from his horse. The physician doubts he will live through the night." James took another breath before adding softly, "He was asking for you."

Stunned, Pádraig stared at his uncle for a moment, and then pulled himself together. He nodded and reached for his coat then followed James back down to the street and into the carriage his uncle had arrived in. Pádraig listened to the driver clicked his tongue and snap the reins. The horses hooves clopping steadily against the cobbled street.

"How did it happen?" Pádraig asked after a few minutes, surprising himself with the question and at how steady his voice was.

James shook his head. "They say it was an accident. His horse was spooked and ran. When Daniel tried to regain control the horse reared up and lost it's balance. Daniel and the horse went down in the middle of the street."

"That can't be right." Pádraig frowned and shook his head. "Daniel is an expert rider; he wouldn't have lost control of a horse like that."

James sighed. "Sometimes one's skill with a horse is not enough Patrick." Pádraig opened his mouth to protest, but James held up his hand to silence him. "I will be looking into what happened." He shook his head again. "But it won't save Daniel," James added softly.

Pádraig bit his lower lip. He knew his uncle, one of the many magistrates for Belfast, would not rest until he knew the truth, but no matter what answers he fond, he would blame himself for being unable to do more.

"Forgive me uncle. I meant no disrespect."

James rested a hand on Pádraig's shoulder, but said nothing more. Pádraig was silent, his thoughts jumbled as they headed across town to the Leeson mansion. Braced against the rocking carriage, Pádraig tried to straighten out those thoughts. Too many memories of his years of friendship with Daniel crowded his mind though and Pádraig had to restrain his hands from reaching for the cross he carried. He could not risk it, though the need to keep that a secret from James had always left Pádraig with a lurking sense of guilt.

The carriage came to a halt and Pádraig looked up at the large white building, trying to gain strength from the solidity of its stonework. Along the roof line, Pádraig spotted several fey creatures, huddled over one end of the building. Pádraig closed his eyes. _Of course they would know._ Reluctantly he followed his uncle out of the carriage.

Standing in the entrance waiting for them was Peter Leeson, Daniel's father. A big man, who appeared more like a blacksmith than the accountant that he truly was, he looked lost, his eyes dark with a pain that he tried to hide as he reached out to shake James's hand.

"Good of you to come James," he said before nodding his head in Pádraig's direction. "And you as well, Patrick."

"How is he, Peter?"

The man shook his head, a bewildered look crossing his features. "He's…" The man paused and took a deep breath. "There's nothing to be done now. We're just waiting. Pastor Thomas was with Daniel earlier, but he's is with Mary now, she has more need of comfort now than..." He glanced up the curving staircase. "I should…"

James nodded and wrapped an arm around the devastated man. "I will go with you," he said. "Patrick, perhaps you should see Daniel first. You can give your condolences to Daniel's mother after you are done."

"The sitting room," Daniel's father said quietly as James led him away.

Pádraig watched the two men head upstairs before making his way to the sitting room. Servants moved silently around him, a few of them parents of his students. All carried looks of sadness and once Pádraig stopped to discreetly offer a few words of comfort and a softly spoken prayer.

When he reached the sitting room, he paused to take a deep breath. A sheet of fabric covered the entrance, closing the room off from the rest of the house. He reached out, pulled the sheet aside, and then stepped inside.

A small bed had been positioned in the center of the room, the other furniture shoved haphazardly to the edges. Pádraig was not surprised to see James's daughter Anne, and James's second wife, Isabella, sitting by Daniel's side. Anne was betrothed to Daniel; they were planning to be married in the spring. A single glance at Daniel's pain clenched face told Pádraig that would never happen.

As soon as Anne spotted him, she left Daniel's side to hugged him, weary sobs shaking her frame. Pádraig returned the hug, rubbing her back in comforting circles.

"I don't understand! I don't understand! Why Daniel?" She looked up, her face streaked with tears. "We we're to be married, Patrick." She gasped and closed her eyes tightly.

Pádraig rested his forehead against his cousin's. "I don't have an answer to that, Anne. Only God does. He will grant you the strength to get through this, you just need to trust in Him. He will take care of Daniel until you can see each other again." He pulled her close, letting her cry against his shoulder; shutting his own eyes to keep his tears at bay.

They stood that way for a few minutes, drawing what comfort they could from one another, and then Anne took a step back as she wiped her face with the back of her hands. Looking up, Pádraig nodded to Isabella, the woman James's had married a few years after Anne's mother Sarah had dies, before forcing himself to look again at Daniel.

A movement on the table though drew Pádraig's gaze away from the bed. He was not surprised to see Súiche, the fey creature that was always somewhere near Daniel, perched on the table where it could watch the room without getting in the way. Pádraig was surprised that Súiche was staring at Isabella instead of Daniel, teeth bared and fur bristling.

Isabella, thankfully, could not see Súiche-- Pádraig didn't want to think of the chaos the sight of the fey creature would have cause if she had. Not that Súiche would do any harm; still, the idea that a creature many considered cursed was in Daniel's room would cause more trouble than comfort.

"Pádraig?" His name was barely audible, but it seemed to silence everything in the room. Daniel's eyes opened, and he stared at the ceiling in confusion as he whispered again, "Pádraig?" Súiche turned away from Isabella and cooed softly at Daniel as he rested his head on his front paws.

Anne quickly returned to Daniel's side. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took the dying man's hand. "He's here, Daniel, he's here." She gave Pádraig a pleading look over her shoulder.

Pádraig slowly walked over to the bed. He had ministered to more than a few of the dying since he had been ordained a priest two years earlier, but this…

He stood beside his aunt on the opposite side of the bed from Anne, and gently touched the back of Daniel's other hand. There were dark bruises mottling the skin of the arm that rested on top of the white coverlet. "Daniel," he said, and was unable to say more.

Daniel tried to turn his head, but gasped in pain as soon as he moved. Isabella pressed her hand against Daniel's shoulder and admonished softly, "You shouldn't move, it will just make things worse, Daniel."

"Not much…" Daniel's voice trailed off and he drew in a few breaths through clenched teeth before continuing. "Not much worse it can get."

"Perhaps you could move for a moment, Isabella, so the boy could get close enough for Daniel to see him." Pádraig blinked in surprise. He had not notice the bard, Colm Cille, sitting in the far corner of the room. Colm nodded at Pádraig, then shifted his gaze back to Isabella. Turning back, Pádraig found his aunt shooting the bard a dark look but, as if aware of Pádraig's attention, the look disappeared, replaced by a more proper grieving expression.

She rose to her feet. "Anne," she said with a quick glance at her step daughter, "we should see how Mary is doing." Isabella turned and walked out of the room. Anne bit her lower lip; she then bent down to lightly kiss the back of Daniel's hand. "I will be back as soon as I can, love," she said, then ran from the room.

Pádraig sighed and moved closer to the head of the bed. Súiche stood up on his hind legs, forelegs tucked under his chest and head cocked to the side as he watched the two women leave the room. When Anne's footsteps faded away, Súiche jumped over to the bed and curled up on Daniel's pillow, resting his muzzle and one paw on Daniel's shoulder.

"She is angry with me, isn't she," Daniel asked. The band of pain grew even tighter around Pádraig's heart as he looked at the bruises and scraped skin he could now see along the side of Daniel's face. An old memory from when they were both much younger flashed through Pádraig's mind; his hand gently stroking the smooth skin of Daniel's face as Daniel lay on top of him. Pádraig stared at a spot to the left of the bed, a blush heating his cheeks.

The sound of a chair shifting snapped Pádraig back to the present. "No," Colm said. The bard stepped to the side of the bed. "Isabella is angry with herself."

"Herself?" Pádraig asked.

"Yes." The bard did not elaborate, though there was a distinct harshness in the single word that sent a shiver of foreboding down Pádraig's spine.

A wavering sigh slipped out of Daniel. "Please don't make an example of her because of me, Colm."

"It is not for you to judge who will be made an example of Daniel." The bard met Pádraig's gaze. "I will keep Isabella occupied so you can have time to say farewell." He then rested a hand on Daniel's head. "Peace be yours, Daniel."

Pádraig watched a shimmering glow flared a moment around the bard's hand as he bent down and kissed Daniel on the forehead, then it disappeared. Daniel's eyes widened in surprise as the bard moved away. Súiche gave a little chirp of content as Colm scratched him behind one ear. He smiled then looked up and nodded once before walking away.

Not sure what the bard had done, Pádraig asked carefully, "Daniel?"

Daniel looked startled and a little frightened as he looked up at Pádraig. "I can't feel the pain, Pádraig. It's still there but…" He swallowed. "A miracle?" he asked as if searching for reassurance.

Pádraig sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully took Daniel's hand in his own as he shook his head and smiled gently down at his friend. "Perhaps more of a gift than a miracle?"

"Yes." Daniel smiled and closed his eyes as Pádraig stared at the doorway the bard had passed through and wondered, _But a gift for whom?_


	3. Chapter 3

James jerked awake at the sound of running feet. He shook his head, wondering where he was as he straightened up in the chair he had fallen asleep in. He looked at the window and frowned at the reflections of the candles beside him on the glass. Realizing he had been asleep for several hours-- it had only been late afternoon when he had retired to the spare room Peter had offered for his use-- James shook his head again to clear the sleep from his mind and stepped into the hall to listen for whomever might be up. He heard voices down near the sitting room and was about to head in that direction to investigate, when a sob to his right caught his attention.

Sorrow hit him unexpectedly as he recognized the sob. He quickly stepped over to a half-open door and pushed it open. Inside, he could just make out his daughter lying on the bed, her face buried in the pillow that she had her arms wrapped around. Stepping into the room, he called out softly, "Anne," as he made his way over to the bed.

Anne was curled up around the pillow, her back to him, her sobs hitching as she tried to breathe and cry at the same time. Settling on the edge of the bed, James rested a hand gently on Anne's trembling shoulder.

"I know it's hard to accept right now; but the Lord will take care of Daniel now. He will--"

"He kissed him."

James gave Anne a puzzled look, not certain if he had heard her properly. "He kissed him?"

Anne nodded then pressed her face deeper into the pillow.

There was a shout from downstairs and Mary's sharp cry of grief. Anne tensed at the sound and covered her ears with her arms. The voices downstairs became more agitated, taking on a dangerous edge of hysteria as someone yelled Patrick's name. Anne twitch as if struck. A sense of dread filled James's chest as he turned back to his daughter.

Not wanting an answer that confirmed the suspicions rising in his mind, but knowing that he had to ask, James said, "Anne, who are you taking about?"

She shook her head and tried to twist out of his grip, but James gently but firmly turned her over. "Anne? What happened?"

Anne sobbed, her eyes filling with tears. "I saw…I saw…" She abruptly rolled over and threw her arms around his waist, wrapping him in a desperate hug.

James bit his lip as he rubbed Anne's back. "Anne," he said quietly.

Before she could give a response, James heard Daniel's father shout, "James Mahon!"

Anne stiffened and held her breath as footsteps pounded up the stairs. James twisted around to look at the open door. Peter Leeson stood in the opening, his fingers digging into the wooden door frame.

"Where is he?" Peter snarled.

"Where is who?" James asked, though the pain settling in the center of his chest told him who it was Peter meant.

"That Judas, Patrick!" Peter propelled himself into the room. Where is he, James?"

James untangled himself from Anne's embrace and rose to his feet, instinctively shielding Anne from Peter. "I don't know where he is, Peter.".

"The hell you don't!" Peter grabbed the front of James's shirt. "Tell me where he is!"

James grabbed Peter's wrists and could feel the man trembling with anger. "I don't know!" James shouted back. He shook his head and asked, "What is going on? What happened?"

"That bastard nephew of yours violated my son!"

"He didn't!" Anne shouted from the bed. "He--" She suddenly stopped. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide and her hands covering her mouth.

Peter shifted as if to make a grab at her, but James kept hold of his wrists and pushed back. They struggled for a moment, and then James shoved Peter against the wall and snapped, "Peter!" The distraught man froze, and then a look of confusion crossed his face as he focused on James. He began shaking his head as if he were waking from a deep sleep.

James turned back to Anne and asked softly, "Anne, what did you see?"

Tears ran down her face as she slowly dropped her hands into her lap. She took a deep breath, then said haltingly, "Daniel, he was… he was in pain… he was…He said he was cold." She bit her lips. "Patrick held him, he was trying to keep him warm…trying to…" Anne wrapped her arms around herself. "Daniel was afraid. Patrick was reassuring him when… when…" She sobbed. "They kissed, they…"

Peter sucked in a breath and tensed, but before he could move or say a work, Anne shot to her feet and yelled at him, "Patrick loved Daniel; he would never do anything to hurt Daniel! He…" A look of loss formed as she whispered, "Daniel. Oh Daniel." She slowly dropped to the floor and began to cry.

Peter sagged and dragged in a few ragged breaths before reaching up to cover his eyes. James watched the man curl into himself.

James turned him towards the door. "You should be with you wife, Peter. She needs you now." Peter was silent as he walked out of the room.

James turned back to Anne, but before he could kneel she said, "You can't let them hurt him. Father, he meant no harm." She looked up, pleading, as she added, "He would never hurt Daniel!"

James stopped and shook his head. He was a magistrate; he had to do his duty. "Was it a caste kiss, Anne?"

She opened her mouth to answer then close it and looked away as she shook her head. James rubbed his face, wishing it were all a dream. He dropped his hands and let them hang uselessly by his side as he asked, "What were you doing when this happened, Anne?"

It was a moment before she answered. A puzzled frown appeared as she said slowly, "Pádraig suggested that I get some sleep. Isabella offered to get some blankets as I got ready for bed. I had gone up to the room Mary said I could use and all I was going to do was clean up, but I fell asleep as soon as I sat down."

She started kneading the fabric of her dress.

"When I woke up, I thought I had just nodded off for a few minutes. I hurried back down to be at Daniel's side." As she looked up, the puzzled frown grew deeper. "Everyone was asleep. Everyone…" She shook her head and looked back down at her hands. "I got there just as Patrick lifted Daniel up to hold him, to warm him. Daniel said he was cold, he was shivering, he…" She swallowed, and then continued. "It seemed to hurt Daniel and Patrick tried to lay him back down, but Daniel wouldn't let go."

She looked back up, her eyes filled with tears. "Patrick was just offering comfort to Daniel as he died. They loved each other; you could see it. Daniel loved…" Her lips trembled as she pressed them together. "Oh Daniel…" She wept.

James sank down on one knee and rested a hand on top of Anne's head. "I have to go, Anne. I have to find Patrick. Will you be all right?"

She nodded. James leaned forward and kissed his daughter's forehead, then rose to leave the room. Anne's voice stopped him at the door.

"Father?"

He turned. "Yes?"

"Isabella was there."

James blinked. "She was?"

"Yes. She was--" Anne chewed on her lip a moment. "She was smiling, like aunt Margaret did at mother's funeral."

James frowned. He knew what Anne was referring too-- Margaret had never forgiven Sarah for their mother's death during her birth, and had had a vindictive smile that James had wanted to wipe off the old spinster's face when Sarah's funeral.

But why would Isabella have that same look? He nodded his understanding, and headed for the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, he paused. As he had struggled with Peter, he had heard several voices downstairs. At some point though, the voices had stopped. James realized the men had gone after Patrick when he noticed the unprotected candles at the bottom of the stairs were wavering in a breeze. He went down and closed the door before heading for the sitting room.

As he approached the room, he asked a few dazed looking servants if they had seen his wife, but they all shook their head. No one had seen her.

When he reached the curtain of fabric covering the sitting room's entrance, he took a deep breath then stepped inside. Except for Daniel, the room was empty. He walked over to the bed and looked down on the man who would have been his son-in-law if things had been different.

Daniel looked peaceful; there were no signs of pain on his face. Someone had arranged his arms so they were crossed over his chest, and had smoothed his hair back. James was sure that had been Patrick's doing, though he could not say why.

_May God protect you and keep you Daniel, _James though as he started to turn away. A flash caught his eye and he turned back and leaned closer to the body. There was something hidden under Daniel's right shoulder. Asking silently for forgiveness, James reached out and lifted Daniel's still form slightly to retrieve the object.

It was a cross, the type the Catholics carried-- small enough to hide in a sleeve or pocket. Attached to the cross was a series of tiny rosary bead on a chain with a loop of metal at the end of the chain that was just wide enough to slip over a man's thumb. James closed his hand around the cross and breathed out through clenched teeth.

Some part of him had known Patrick was a Catholic, but he never pursued his suspicions. Patrick was his precious sister's son in all but blood, she had raised him as if he were her own, had found him when she was wandering Belfast, grief stricken after losing her husband and her three month old son. Patrick had saved James's sister, had given her a reason to live again.

He was glad she had not lived to see this.

James turned away. His duty as magistrate was clear. He needed to find Patrick before anyone else did. James blinked back a sudden sting of frustrated tears as he walked from the room. If he found Patrick, he would have to arrest him, charge him with sodomy and for being a practicing Catholic. It was possible that the punishment for sodomy could be light-- Anne had said he had simply been offering comfort; it had only been a kiss after all, that might help Patrick's case-- but if they found him to be Catholic…

_He is a priest._ The thought stopped James in his tracks, his heart beating wildly. As soon as he thought it, he knew it was the truth.

_And if he is..._ James closed his eyes, his hand squeezing tight around the cross. "Oh God," he whispered.

When he opened his eyes, he found the bard, Colm, standing before him. The bard stepped forward, a look of compassion and understanding on his face as James asked with a feeling of dread, "Have you seen my wife?"

The look of compassion grew deeper as Colm said softly, "You will not find her." The bard held out his hand; he was holding a large sliver brooch with a dark red cabochon at its center.

It was Isabella's brooch.

"She used this to spook Daniel's horse. He could not regain control because she would not allow him to do so."

A tremor ran through James and he shook his head in denial. Colm stepped closer then caught his wrist and placed the brooch in the hand not holding the cross. James gasped at the icy contact.

_Daniel said he was cold._ James looked at Colm. The bard let go and stepped back.

"You must do your duty, James Mahon," he said in a firm but gentle voice.

James closed his eyes and nodded as tears began to fall slowly down his cheeks.

* * *

When Colm's horse came to a skidding halt in front of St. George's Church, Pádraig simply sat on the horse for a few minutes and stared uncomprehendingly at the building. He had focused all his attention on remaining on the bay's back during the wild ride through Belfast and now that they had stopped moving, it took him a moment to remember why he was even on the bay.

Sliding off the horse, Pádraig paused, still staring up at the church, before slowly making his way inside.

As he stepped into the slightly dilapidated church, Pádraig was relieved to find there was no one in sight. He was not sure if he should be here now that he had been ordained. Catholics were not welcomed by the patrons of St. George's, but he needed comfort and the stability of something familiar to get his bearings and this was the only option opened to him.

He made his way down the aisle, then over to the spot where he and his adopted mother always sat during the services when he had been a small boy. Pádraig sat down on the hard bench and looked up. There was just enough candlelight within the sanctuary for Pádraig to find his way around, but not enough to see the curved roof above his head.

_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. _

As the words wandered through his mind, the urge to move closer to the altar filled Pádraig. When he was a few steps away, he stopped and drew in a breath as he tried to calm his mind enough to pray. Instead of finding peace, anger began to build up in his chest.

_You've already claimed him, haven't you? And probably condemned him to hell as you did..._

Pádraig paced a tight circle as he tried to banish Isabella's words, but they only grew tighter around his conscience.

He stopped and looked up at the crucified Christ looming above him, panting with anger, "How could it have been wrong?" Hands clenched into fists. "Why did you let it happen if it were wrong? How can love, honestly given, be wrong? Why did you give me the capacity to love when…" He dragged in several ragged breaths. "How can you …"

Shaking with emotion, he suddenly shouted desperately "You made me!" He gasped. "Why can't you unmake me?"

"Father O'Malley."

Pádraig spun around. He found Bishop Ryan cautiously making his way towards the alter.

"I was told there was someone here who was in need of my help." He frowned as he stepped closer; glancing up at the figure above them, then back down at Pádraig. "What has happened, Father O'Malley?"

Pádraig bowed his head, dropped to his knees, and told the bishop everything. The bishop only stopped Pádraig once. When he mentioned Colm, there was a sharp intake of breath. "Who was there?"

Realizing how odd that name must have sounded to the bishop-- Colm Cille was the Irish name for the the saint, Columba-- Pádraig looked up and clarified his answer. "The bard, Colm Cille. He visits Belfast every few years. I've known him since I was a child. He is the reason I am here."

The bishop stared at him silently for a few heartbeats, then had gestured for him to continue.

When he finally finished his tale, Pádraig stared down at the stone floor, afraid of what he would see.

He listened to the bishop breath out. "Was the incident with Daniel before or after you took your vows, Pádraig?" he asked in a voice that seemed flat and devoid of any emotions.

Pádraig shook his head "The year before. I went to confession the next day, confessed my sins to Father Tomlinson--"

"Who was practically deaf at the time," the bishop pointed out sharply. "It was most likely he was unable hear what it was you had said."

Taking a deep breath, Pádraig nodded his head and admitted, "I suspected he had not, but I did the penitence that he assigned me, and spent the next year praying for guidance. I believed I had misunderstood God's purpose for me."

"At the end of that year though, I was given the chance to become a scholar of the Holy Word; I could not turn away from that call. I never believed I would then be called upon to become a priest; I had believed that He would not allow me to be ordained if He believed my service to be flawed."

Pádraig looked up and gave the bishop a helpless look. "But He did allow it. Why would He allow someone as unworthy as me to be ordained? Why had He not stopped me? Once it has been done, it cannot be undone. I…"

Pádraig bowed his head when he realized that his questions were ones the bishop could not answer. "Forgive me."

There was a moment of silence, and then the bishop said, "Before I decide what is to be done with you, there is one question I would ask. Why did you come here?"

"Colm Cille gave me his horse and this is where I was brought."

The bishop frowned then shook his head. "You are right, what has been done cannot be undone. However, from this time forward," the bishop drew in a deep breath, straightened, and looked down at Pádraig gravely, "you must nary speak a word for 50 years. You will also copy verse upon verse of scripture with nary a printing press, but with thine hand and quill."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he added softly, "And my God have mercy on your soul, Pádraig O'Malley." Bishop Ryan turned and walked away.

Pádraig remained on his knees, staring at the entrance to the church long after the bishop had left, then he rose to his feet and returned to the altar.

Closing his eyes, he knelt once again and took a deep breath. He started to reach for his cross as he began reciting the Lord's Prayer but clasped his hands together and held back a sob that clenched his throat when he realized he had left his cross with Daniel.

Daniel.

The name unleashed a flood of pain and Pádraig curled forward, the sob breaking free as he rested his forehead against his clasped hands. Tears wet his face as he let Daniel's loss wash over him.

The click of tiny claws against the stone floor pulled Pádraig's head up. Blinking back his tears he could just make out Súiche crouched down beside him, every line of the creature's little form trembling as he peered up at Pádraig and whimpered pitifully.

Unable to offer any words of comfort, Pádraig reached out and ran his hand gently over Súiche's soft gray fur. Súiche let out a little cry and moved forward, pressing his head against Pádraig's leg as he curled into a little ball, trying to get as close as he could to Pádraig.

Pádraig scooped Súiche up and placed him in his lap, wrapping his arms protectively around the little creature as Súiche buried his head against the fabric of his shirt.

_I miss him too_, Pádraig thought as he took a deep breath, his lips silently shaping the words of the Lord's Prayer.

As the "Amen" faded from his mind, the doors of the church banged open, and a voice shattered the silence.

"_Patrick!"_


	4. Chapter 4

"Patrick!"

James Mahon stood in the entrance of the church and stared at the figure kneeling before the altar as his voice echoed through the high ceiling room. Patrick straighten and look up. He moved his arms away from his body as if setting something down then slowly rose to his feet and turned to face James.

Emotions vibrated through James, pushing him into motion. He had spent hours looking for Patrick and the men who had left the Leeson home to hunt Patrick down. He had found no signs of either and as the night wore on, he found himself moving instinctively to St. George's when he realized he had no one but the Lord to turn to for help.

In his pocket, he could feel the chill of Isabella's brooch and in his hand he still held the cross he had found by Daniel.

Patrick did not move; he simply watched James approach with a sorrowful expression on his face. James stepped up the three short steps that led to the altar, then stopped.

They stared at one another for a few moments, then James shouted, "Damn it Patrick, say something! Tell me why!"

"He cannot."

James spun around. Colm stood at the beginning of the rows of pews behind him. When James met his eye, he walked forward, speaking softly as he approached the altar.

"He cannot answer your questions because he can no longer utter a word." Colm stepped up and stopped before James. "It is his penance; he cannot utter another word until fifty years have past." James glanced back at Patrick and found the young man staring at the bard with a look of astonishment on his face.

"He has also been ordered to copy the Holy Word by hand. Where or if he will be able to do that is up to you now, James."

He stared at the bard, dread clutching at his throat. "I have to carry out my duties," he whispered huskily.

Patrick breathed in, then out, and James could see, out of the corner of his eye, Patrick nodding his head as if in acknowledgement. James bowed his head and gritted his teeth as bitter tears momentarily blinded him.

A hand rested on his shoulder. "You do need to carry out your duties, James," the bard said, "but who's orders do you follow? In this house of worship, who do you ultimately need to answer to, James?"

James stared into the bard's eyes. There was still compassion there, but now there was an implicit demand for honesty that James could not refuse.

"He is my sister's son. I…" James rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. "I…"

Patrick suddenly grabbed his arm. James twisted around and Pádraig shook his head, a desperate look on his face.

"It is his decision to make, Patrick." Colm said.

Patrick turned an anguished gaze on Colm before looking back to plead silently. _Don't_.

That look gave James the courage to do what he needed to do. He stepped away from Patrick; even as something cold and hard took up residence in his soul. When Patrick's hand dropped away, James caught it and slapped the small cross in his hand.

A soft moan slipped out of Patrick and he bowed his head as James closed his fingers over the cross. "He cannot stay here," James said to Colm, his voice steady and firm. "He needs to leave before they can find him. If they catch him, they will kill them."

"He will be safe with me."

James nodded, then said, "Patrick."

Patrick's head came up. "You can never return to Belfast," James told him. "If you do, you will be executed as soon as you step into the city proper. There will be no trial, and I will not stop them no matter what the reason for your return.

"Do you understand me?"

Patrick nodded.

James returned the nod, then said, "I hope I never see you again, nephew." James turned and walked away.

When he stepped outside, he turned towards the river and continued to walk until he stood on the bank. He pulled the brooch out of his pocket, his hand clenching tightly around it as if he were trying to crush it.

With a cry of anger and despair, James hurled the brooch into the river. He watched it hit the surface, the ripples spreading rapidly out from the point of impact. James stared at the water then turned away.

He still had one family member who was not dead to him.

* * *

It was several minutes before Pádraig could bring himself to move. He knew what it had cost his uncle to turn and walk away-- James Mahon was a man of his word, and to let Pádraig leave the city meant that he was breaking the oaths of his office as magistrate. Opening his hand, Pádraig stared at the cross and silently asked James to forgive him for his betrayal.

"It's time to go, Pádraig."

Pádraig looked up at Colm and nodded his head. Slipping the cross into his pocket, Pádraig leaned down and picked Súiche up before following the bard outside.

There were two horses waiting for them. Colm pulled a cloak out of a saddlebag and handed it to Pádraig. "It'll make it harder for them to spot you." As he handed Súiche to Colm and swung the cloak over his shoulders, Colm indicated to Pádraig that he take the bay again. Letting Súiche climb up to his shoulder, Pádraig pulled himself into the saddle and sat a little uncomfortably in place as Colm mounted his horse.

He gave the bard a dubious look. Colm shrugged. "If someone tries to lay claim to Rua because a Catholic is riding him, they will find it difficult to keep him." The bard then gave him a grim smile and tapped his heels against his horse's flank.

"Now if someone tries to claims him because you were unable to stay on and left him riderless," Colm said over his shoulder, "then we might have a problem, Father."

Pádraig sighed and urged the bay on.

It took longer to leave the city than Pádraig would have expected-- there were several times they had to cut through an alley or double back to avoid crowds of people-- but by the time the sky had begun to change from black to a silvery gray, they had worked their way up into the forested hills west of the city. Since the horses seemed to know where they were going Pádraig let go of the reins. He wrapping them loosely around the pommel then bowed his head as he pulled out the cross and calmed his mind to recite the rosary.

_I n-ainm an athar, agus an mhic, agus an sprid naoimh, áiméin._ A tired smile pulled at Pádraig's lips when he realized he was reciting in Irish instead of Latin as he made the sign of the cross; he must be more tired than he thought. He shook his head a little then focused on the Latin prayers.

_Credo in Deum Patrem omnipoténtem, Creatórem cæli et terræ. Et in Iesum Christum, Fílium eius únicum, Dóminum nostrum, qui concéptus est de Spíritu Sancto..._

For a time, Pádraig lost himself in his prayer, and was surprised to discover it was late in the morning when he finally looked up. Colm had dismounted and was sitting on a large rock. He opened a bundle that contained a loaf of bread and some cheese.

Colm glanced up with a smile. "You seemed focused on what you were doing so I saw no reason to interrupt." He pulled off a chunk of bread and held it out. "Hungry?"

Pádraig's stomach answered for him.

Once he was on the ground, Pádraig had to lean against Rua for a few moments. It had been years since he had ridden a horse, and the muscles in his legs and backside complained fiercely as he straighten out.

Súiche peered at Pádraig and gave him a wide yawn as he stretched across the saddlebag he had been sleeping on. The yawn prompted Pádraig to yawn as well.

Colm chuckled. "We can rest here if you would like."

The offer was tempting, but Pádraig knew they should keep moving. He shook his head and made his way over to the bard, taking the offered bread after carefully sitting down beside him. They ate in silence and Pádraig found he had nodded off when Colm gently nudged him awake.

"We should move on."

They rode for the rest of the day. Pádraig had no idea where Colm was leading him; he had never been outside of Belfast, except for a trip with Daniel's family to the larger city of Carrickfergus where he had met Colm for the first time. He had lost all sense of direction; it had begun to rain not long after they had stopped for lunch and without the sun, Pádraig was unable to tell if they were heading north, west or south.

He trusted Colm though, so when they finally stopped for the night, Pádraig slid off the bay, hobbled over to a tree, carefully lowered himself to the ground and promptly fell asleep without a second thought.

They traveled that way for several days, Colm did all the speaking whenever they encountered someone-- explaining Pádraig off as his assistant-- and Pádraig listened appreciatively to the bard's songs and stories when they stopped for the night. On their second day, Colm handed Pádraig a package that contained Pádraig's priestly vestments and schoolbooks without a word. Pádraig carefully placed it into one of Rua's saddlebags

It was on the sixth day that Pádraig discovered the purpose behind his penance of silence.

They were working their way around Roscommon when they spotted several people crossing the path that Colm was following. They reined their horses in and Colm slipped off to approach a man and a woman who had paused to watch them suspiciously. Colm talked quickly to the couple, assuaging their fear, then returned to Pádraig to say, "There is a Mass to be held in the field nearby. Come."

Pádraig quickly dismounted and followed Colm. By the time they had reached the field, a crowd had gathered and an altar had been set up. A small screen was being put in place to keep those officiating over the Mass from being recognized. Pádraig and Colm stayed on the edge of the crowd, cautiously welcomed, but stranger's none-the-less.

It wasn't until the Mass had started, and the greetings were exchanged, that Pádraig understood. The bishop could not strip him of his priestly rank, but he had stripped him of his ability to be a priest. He could no longer officiate over a Mass to the faithful, nor offer the Last Rites or many other services that enriched the lives and souls of the faithful, simply because he could no longer speak those words of comfort aloud.

Sorrow filled him and he bowed his head, dragging in several strained breaths as he struggled to accept this revelation. A hand rested on his shoulder. Colm gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It gave Pádraig the anchor he needed to center himself, and he gave the bard a thankful nod.

Colm smiled and leaned close to whisper, "There are other ways than speech to offer comfort, Pádraig. What you hold in your heart is just as important as what you say-- maybe even more so." He let his hand drop and turned back to the service.

That statement gave Pádraig much to think about when they returned to the horses.

* * *

A few days later, they stopped for the night near the coastline. Colm fell asleep soon after eating some of the stew Pádraig had managed to scrape together from the roots the bard had purchased earlier in the day. Sleep however, eluded Pádraig.

Throwing aside the cloak he was using as a blanket, Pádraig rose to his feet and wandered for a time, until he came upon a gray stone wall that glimmered slightly in the rising full moon.

Leaning his weight against the top of the wall, Pádraig stared up at the moon and pleaded silently, _What is it that you want from me, Lord? How can I offer others your words when I can no longer speak them myself? Why did you allow me to become a priest, only to take away my ability to act as one?_

Looking down at his clenched hands, Pádraig slowly opened them so that the palms were towards the night sky. He shook his head. _What am I doing? I am weak and I am a fool. This happened because of what I have done and I am the one to blame. I am the one who must pay the price._

Pádraig breathed out a long sigh, his body sagging as the air left his body, as he looked up at the moon and the stars.

_My life is yours, Lord. Your will be done._

He closed his eyes in prayer, but snapped them open again when he heard a soft _click_. Looking out over the moon silvered landscape before him, Pádraig's eyes were immediately drawing to a white hart that stood not far away to his right; it's antlered head cocked to the side as it studied him.

They stood looking at one another for several minutes, and then the hart raised its head and turned to walk alongside a gleaming creek that tumbled down the hillside. After a few steps, it stopped and looked back as if it were waiting for him.

Taking a deep breath, Pádraig pulled himself over the wall and cautiously walked towards the hart. Once he was within arms length, the hart continued up the hill.

Pádraig didn't know why he was following the hart, nor whether they were walked in circles or not, but eventually the hart came to a stop and allowed Pádraig to move forward to stand beside it. It did not turn in Pádraig's direction. Instead, it was looking intently down at something below them.

The hill they stood on sloped down to the sea. At first Pádraig had trouble making out any details, but he could hear voices softly chanting.

Taking a couple of steps forward, Pádraig peered in the direction the voices were coming from. There was a building at the bottom of the hill, a small abbey by the shape of it. He glanced back at the hart, but was surprised to find it gone.

He looked down at the church, and then made his way down.

The voices felt oddly welcoming as he drew closer. The abbey had the peaceful presence of an old monastery and the man striding out to meet him looked like a monk. Pádraig stopped and shook his head; beside the man walked Colm.

_How long was I wandering? _Pádraig wondered as he waited for the two men to reach him. _And how is it that you got here before me, Colm?_

But those were questions he no longer had the ability to ask.

"Ah, I was hoping you would come this way." Colm said as they came to a stop, then he turned to the man beside him. "Father O'Shaughnessy, this is Father Pádraig O'Malley. He was the one I was telling you about."

The man smiled and held out his hand. "Ah, I am glad to meet you, Brother. We had not hoped to find someone to replace Father Murphy's-- may God rest his soul-- place at the scribes tables so soon, but Colm here has said that you have a clean and steady hand. I hope you may consider staying here at Killilagh Abbey for a time."

Pádraig gave Colm a questioning look. "I simply mentioned that you were a fine calligrapher and that it was a shame that you could not met Father Murphy," the bard said.

"You are under no obligation to stay, but I certainly offer the hospitality of Killilagh Abbey to you both," Father O'Shaughnessy said. "Will you accept?"

Pádraig opened his mouth to answer then snapped it shut, looking away in embarrassment.

"I'm afraid he cannot answer that, Father." When he had the priest's attention, Colm explained, "Father O'Malley is under an injunction not to speak for fifty years."

"Ah." Father O'Shaughnessy nodded his head. "A difficult task but a worthy one."

At Pádraig's look of surprise, the priest said, "A vow of silence teaches one how to listen, with both one's ears and one's heart. Words can mislead, the heart cannot."

O'Shaughnessy nodded to them both. "As I have said, you are both welcome to join us here for as long as you wish. If you will excuse me though, I have duties to attend to." He rested a hand on Colm's shoulder, nodded once, then turned and walked away.

Pádraig watched the man go as Colm stepped to his side to say, "I will leave it up to you. Should we stay, or would it be best if we continue on?"

Looking at Colm, Pádraig wanted to ask him why he was doing this; why was Colm setting aside his own life for him? However, he could not, and he would not allow himself to be a burden to the bard.

Taking a deep breath, Pádraig moved away from Colm, followed Father O'Shaughnessy, his steps heavy as he forced himself down the well worn path leading to the Abbey.

Halfway to the Abbey, he heard Colm's voice behind him say, "Cast thy care upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee..."

Startled,Pádraig turned to look back but all he saw was the white hart standing on the summit of the hill watching him. A shiver ran through Pádraig and he bowed his head.

_And may He have mercy on my soul._


End file.
